Vanilla & Smoke || A.I.

Noir.

Noir
/nwar/
adjective, french
black

~~~

  The test was probably easy- if Thora had known what any of the terms meant. Everyone else's pencils were moving, and from what she could tell, there was very little hesitation from anyone.

  Even Calum was scribbling away, and Thora wondered if he'd gotten the answers after all.

  Theoretically, it should be easy to cheat in this class- it wasn't like Mr.Irwin was going to see. But he was a strong believer in the honor policy, and had said multiple times already that he expected everyone to respect the time they spent in his class and be honest. It was BS, but it appeared to work. It didn't appear that anyone was cheating.

  Someone finished, bringing their test to the front. The tension in the room immediately grew. Thora didn't know what the difference between an analogy and metaphor was, or how color symbolism could impact the theme of a text.

  Another two people carried their papers to the front. Someone coughed. Mr.Irwin had one earbud in, listening intently to something.

  Eventually Thora gave up, coming up with answers that didn't sound too far off, and turning her paper in. The class ended with the familiar sound of "Miss Faye, please stay after" and the bell's ringing.

  Toying with her skirt, Thora walked slowly over to his desk. Mr.Irwin pulled the earbud out of his ear and looked in her direction knowingly. "How do you think you did on the test?"

  She didn't know anything on it. "I think I did fine."

  He nodded, pretending to believe her. "I imagine it would've been easier if you had studied."

  "I did study," she lied.

  "Really? How long?"

  "Late into the night." If you could call searching for a drug dealer all night 'studying', then sure. "I think I did fine."

  For a blind man, Mr.Irwin seemed to be staring at her rather intensely. It was easy to imagine him as someone with sight- he made a conscious effort to look at a person's face when they spoke to him, and he tried to avoid using his cane as much as possible.

  Even now, he was intimidating. His lack of sight dibilitated him in a way that wasn't obvious- it gave him less of an advantage, less power. He had to trust his students not to cheat, instead of being able to catch them. With his sight, he'd easily be the most intimidating person in the building .

  "I think you're lying," he decided, cocoon his head to the side. "You didn't study. You didn't have the notes."

  He was too smart for his own good, his intuition too strong. How was someone able to teach without their sight anyways? Weren't their papers to grade, reviews to read? What about emails?

  Thora started slowly backing up, wanting to leave the conversation. It wasn't like he could stop her.

  But Mr.Irwin knew her too well, already. "Hand," he commanded, extending his own expectantly. "You're a senior. You can't just avoid life."

  So Thora grabbed his hand lightly, sitting on top of the desk across from his and trying to sit up straighter, trying to mimic what Calum always looked like. But she just didn't have that confidence. She could try as hard as she wanted, but she'd never be Calum.

  "I did horribly," she admitted finally.
  Mr.Irwin nodded. "Do you think it would've helped to have the notes? If you'd gone to class every day like you're supposed to?"

  The words were out before she could stop them. "Probably not."

  That took the teacher aback. He was used to always getting that 'correct answer'. People seldom answered questions with the truth, instead opting to say what they were expected to say. 'I'm good', 'I don't mind', 'I'll try harder', those were all the 'right' answers that were drilled into everyone's heads from the day they begin to talk. Because the honest answer opens up a whole nother can of worms.

  His thumb rubbed the back of her hand absent-mindedly, his expression changing to a sort of focusing teacher one. Maybe being a teacher wasn't easy when you're blind, but it was near impossible to imagine him him as anything else.

  "You don't trust your own ability," he decided. "You're not stupid, Miss Faye. I believe you'd do quite well if you just applied yourself."

  Her cheeks weren't supposed to turn red, and her palms weren't supposed to get clammy. This wasn't normal.

  "Well you're wrong. You don't know me. You don't even know what I look like."

  He didn't try to stop her as she yanked her hand away, storming out of the classroom. The teacher just stayed frozen on his desk, his gaze pointed directly at where the troubled student had been sitting before she stormed out. It seemed as though their conversations always ended the same way.

  "How do we always end up here," he mused, as the little bell over the door rang, signaling the girl's exit.